


Principiis Magicae

by fouryearslaterdrabbles (CheshireCatLife)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Gore, F/M, Feminism, Magic Revealed, a slight twist on the Witcher universe, as are the rest of them, because I wouldn't want him as anything but, but yennefer is a good character to study it with, ciri is his ward, geralt is a hunter, jaskier is...himself, kind of, thought I'm not that good at it, yennefer is a queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslaterdrabbles
Summary: Queen Yennefer of Vengerberg's position has never been safe. But she has power, beauty and most importantly, magic. Magic the world doesn't know she has. Because the world doesn't know of magic at all. Except one man. Because of course it was going to be a man.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 95





	1. Principia

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone!
> 
> I watched the new Witcher series in just over a day and I couldn't help myself, I just had to write this! I'm absolutely loving the show so far and I wish there was more out there that I could read because waiting another year for season 2 sounds like hell. But anyway, enjoy this. For now, it's just the prologue (because I was really excited and just wanted to post something) but more will be coming soon.
> 
> -fouryearslater

Kings, Queens. They fall. In war and in ill-health, in heroics and in disgrace. The world isn’t a chess game, it’s many. There will be war after war after war and it will always end in the king falling. But kingdoms live on. They rise and they fall, they change names and rulers, but they remain. Boundaries shift, battles rage, but they live on.

Vengerberg has lived longer than most, ruled by kings not forgotten by history. King after king dying in heroics, passing on the mantle to their sons. Over the centuries, the kingdom has grown, clawing it’s way through the borders of Nilfgaard and Temeria until both were left small and insignificant under the shadow of their neighbour. Vengerberg is the powerhouse of the south. It’s riches are vast, expedited by it’s fast growth.

But Kings fall.

And not always in the way you may expect. There’s only a set number of places in which you can kill a king from in a game of chess, but there’s an infinite amount of methods. Because methods aren’t part of the game. You can only move with the rules, dictated by a destiny you can’t control. But the methods are infinite. You can make the king fall, or bleed. You can crush him or you can make him disappear. It’s boundless, malleable, and dangerous.

But there’s more ways to make a king fall than murder.

There’s curses. Magic no one knows exists, lingering under the earth’s surface. It rages and bubbles and wreaks havoc on even the best of people. And for the first time, it’s wreaked havoc on a queen.

Her daughters were stillborn, her boys miscarriages. Five tries had passed before the King had given up, left in despair. But there was still one last chance; an inflamed stomach of the Queen herself, another child to come. It was only a matter of waiting, of desperately keeping the Queen healthy to keep the baby from an almost inevitable death.

On the last days of her pregnancy, she had been locked away, hidden in the darkness of the East Wing’s many bedrooms, away from disease and people and her husband. She’d given birth on the third day, screaming with only her maid to watch yet everyone to hear. The screams could be heard from the grounds outside, persistent and terrifying. It had been long, arduous. By the end, the Queen was dead.

The child was not.

The _girl_ was not.


	2. Primis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the moonlight, the monsters come out. But when the monsters come out, so do the hunters.
> 
> And when the day comes? Well, let's just say Geralt's never too pleased by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I was on holiday, but now I'm back. This is shorter than I'd usually make my updates but I've decided for this story that I might do shorter chapters but more frequently rather than making you all wait for my enormously sized chapters! I'm happy with how this is starting to turn out so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> For now, you get the Geralt gang.  
> Next chapter, Yennefer makes her debut.
> 
> -fouryearslater

Stars shone brighter out here than they ever did in the city. Yet still, they were destroyed by the thick coverage of trees; layers of mystic green that shrouded the light. Despite it, Geralt still preferred to hunt at night. The animals roamed with less fear of humans. Many were asleep but the bravest still trampled the night, getting caught in other hunter’s traps.

But Geralt wasn’t just any hunter.

Hunters set traps, pulled on bowstrings, killed from afar. Geralt hunted with a sword. Its metal seemed to gleam even in the darkness, it’s silver shine recognisable to all those in the city. Geralt was infamous for his unusual work. People adored him for it. Just as much as they hated him for it. People feared him for his difference. Hunters hated him for his skill. Buyers cursed him for his hard prices. They were steady, he would argue. Unreasonable, they’d fight back. But he never cared. He was never one for mindless arguing. He had two mouths to feed, and often a third: his prices would remain unmoved.

But to do so meant that he had to have an animal to sell in the first place. Hence, it was time for the hunt.

He did it the day he knew no others would. Sunday was a religious day for many but Geralt had long since given up his faith, allowing himself to dictate his rules and his future. Higher powers had done enough.

It left the forests barren, and under the cover of night, it was almost impenetrable. Except Geralt knew these forests inside and out by now. And he had an advantage. Not that anyone knew that. He unsheathed his sword, breath steady, feet silent. His white hair gleamed dully in what light only his eyes could capture. His amber eyes shone violently, the only sign that there was a monster lingering amongst them, sword in hand. His grip was perfect, trained up over the years, and his posture was deadly.

The hunt was on.

Silently planting his feet, one in front of the other, leaving no tracks behind him, he began. He found a new area every time, yet each one was as familiar as the last. The perks of his ‘advantages’, he would have guessed. He’d never explored the full scope of them.

Silence reigned in the minutes following. This was his true skill; the ability to become part of the landscape rather than something attacking it. Trick them into trust before he began, sword slashing down on what he could find.

Today, a deer.

It poked its head out of the bushes, brown nose gentle, leading up to a pair of almost demonic black eyes. Geralt had long since forgotten the guilt that could have come with killing something so beautiful.

He pressed his back against the nearest tree, his legs ready to pounce. He waited longer, holding his breath as he lifted silver to the sky.

Then he spun, bringing it down to the creature’s neck in one foul swipe. He didn’t mind the blood splatter anymore, even when the red caked his view and turned the dark landscape into a hellish desert. It didn’t matter, not when he had the creature.

Ignoring the stench, he hauled it over his shoulder and began the trek home. Once he reached the end of the forest, he put the creature on the back of Roach, his horse, before making his way to the far part of the city where he resided. Another reason to hunt at night, he reasoned; no one got to gape at him as he hauled a dead deer through the centre of town.

Once he made it, he slammed the door behind him, throwing the deer onto the table (it had always been used for his finds; Ciri had determined long ago to never eat on it). It landed with a heavy thud, shaking the house as it did, causing a clamour upstairs before Ciri came rushing down.

“Geralt!” She cheered as she came down, a wide smile on her face.

“I thought you were supposed to be asleep,” he chastised gently.

“I was. And now I’m not. Oh, wow! A deer! That’s going to sell for a lot.”

Geralt shrugged. “Hopefully. Now get back to sleep.”

“But!”

“No buts. Go to bed.” Ciri pouted but did as she was told, trampling up the stairs. “Jaskier’s coming for breakfast tomorrow!” He shouted up, removing the pout from Ciri’s face, though it couldn’t quite bring out a smile. She didn’t answer him, slamming the bedroom door behind her. He knew she wouldn’t be angry by morning, but she had been ill-tempered as of late. Geralt thought it was most likely age. Not that he really knew anything about teenagerhood.

This whole looking after a child business was difficult. Especially when his only help was a permanent bachelor who was more likely to act like a teenager than he was to look after one.

Geralt sighed, doing some of the last preparations on the deer for when he’d try to sell it tomorrow, before retiring to bed himself. Although, it only felt like his head had hit the pillow an hour before when he heard the familiar screech of a lute with a similarly whiney voice. Ciri, or so he hoped, must have been clapping along because whatever was causing the racket was travelling fast through the uninsulated house.

Geralt groaned and tossed over, cursing his life for all it was, before he slowly made his way out of bed and down the stairs. He was asleep on his feet, that much he knew. Whatever had happened yesterday seemed to have left him tossing and turning, unable to succumb to the exhaustion wracking his body. He could almost feel the dark circles under his eyes, puffy and inflamed as his eyelids dragged themselves downwards.

“Well, don’t you just look like hell.”

“I hate you.” Jaskier just smirked and begun strumming on his lute again. Geralt thought he was about to take it and rip the damn thing in half; fuck, this felt like a hangover. “And why the fuck are you so early?”

“Well, if you were more polite, I would be inclined to tell you.” Geralt glared. “Fine! A lovely lady that I’d met for the night had stayed over but she was an unfortunately early riser-”

“She was trying to sneak out,” Ciri inputted, not that anyone needed her to.

“How dare you! What we had was-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned. Ciri was still a teenager; explicit details could be saved. Then again, it wasn’t like Geralt ever wanted to hear them either.

“Fine, fine, but I’m here now so stop your complaining and serve me breakfast.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “ _Or_ , I serve breakfast, yes, that sounds great. Definitely what I wanted to do this morning.” Jaskier huffed and hurried off, leaving his lute leaning on the wall.

Ciri chuckled lowly as she watched him leave and put her feet up on a stool, leaning back in her chair with the air of impermissibility. Her face dropped when he rounded the corner, the lines of her face tense. Geralt frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it the deer on the table?”

“It’s the deer on the table.”

“You usually don’t care.”

“It’s usually gone before Jaskier comes.”

His eyes narrowed before a sudden, and rare, look of shock passed over his face. “Do you… _like_ Jaskier?” There was no other reason for her to care, was there?

“What! No! What the hell!” Geralt couldn’t read whether it was disgust or denial; he never was good with people. “I just meant that we shouldn’t have a gutted deer on the table with guests here.”

“Why not? It’s only Jaskier.”

“It’s a dead deer!”

“So, what did I miss?” Jaskier announced, entering with two bowls of porridge, one for himself and one for Ciri. Geralt stole his. Sighing, Jaskier returned to get his own bowl before sitting on one of the chairs circling the table but not near. No one wanted to smell deer guts whilst they were eating. Not that the smell wasn’t there anyway. It was just…better not to be up close.

“Geralt is being annoying.” Geralt didn’t grace that with a reply. “Do you like having this _dead deer_ on the table, Jaskier?” Jaskier looked ready to reply with a clear negative when he caught Geralt’s glare. They’d been friends for a long time now but never had he gotten used to the fear that ran through him at Geralt’s glare. He’d managed to mitigate the symptoms of that fear over time but he still found it best to give in to commands when it didn’t cost him much. Lying to a teenager, he thought, wasn’t the worst thing he could do.

“I love it! Really shows off…the hunt. And Geralt’s skills. And the guts. And blood. Lots of blood.” Okay, it wasn’t the best performance but it was something. Maybe it would make them both stop asking him questions. Of course, that wasn’t how this family worked.

“See?”

“He said he likes it.”

“And he was clearly lying. Weren’t you?”

“No?”

“See!” Geralt left it alone. It wasn’t like the deer could go until he went to the market so her arguments were null and void. He finished his porridge amidst the mindless chatter of Ciri and Jaskier, ignoring her awkward, side-eyed glares. The two had little to nothing in common but still managed to uphold a conversation (which would forever be beyond Geralt’s reach, not that he ever really cared).

“So, Miss Ciri, are you going to try to attend to the Summer Ball this grand weekend?” Geralt’s head flew up, examining the situation with slight trepidation.

“The Summer Ball?”

“Has Geralt not told you?” He didn’t sound all that surprised. If anything, it sounded trepidatious himself; he was definitely pushing Geralt’s boundaries today. Then again, that was what their friendship relied on. Geralt’s persistent reticence and Jaskier’s forceful extroversion.

“No! What is it?”

“Every Summer, the keep opens to the city. There’s a huge ball. But to get in is more luck than anything else. If you’re willing to go up before the workday ends you’ve got a much better chance. The Queen will be there, and all the aristocracy. You get their food, their wine, and their _women_ -”

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, yep. Ignore that last bit. But it’s a grand event. The people who get in have spread wild tales around the city. It’s one of the biggest ways to gain prestige in the city. Most of the major merchants now weren’t anything before they attended. You know, it would be _very_ good for Geralt’s business if he got inside.”

“Jaskier-”

“The more you say my name like that, the more I think you might be enjoying it.” Resisting the urge to warn his name again, Geralt remained silent.

“Geralt! Why didn’t you tell me?” Ciri yelled, hands flat on the table as her eyes blazed.

He just shrugged, careful to say nothing. Anything that came out his mouth would not be taken well, even if the excuse was actually good. “Geralt!” He continued his silence, wishing he had his food back to pass the time. Silence was his forte, yet the pressure of Ciri’s gaze was enough to make even him nearly break. Nearly.

“Okay, keep your silence but we’re going.”

“No.”

“Why not!”

“You’re young.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Sixteen _is_ the minimum age,” Jaskier interrupted.

“Jaskier!”

“Sixteen is _definitely_ too young, Miss Cirilla. Yes, too young. Minimum age is…fifty-four-”

“Jaskier, shut up.”

“Come on, can’t we just try to get in?”

“No.”

“Why not? Is it the whole royal thing because we don’t have to speak to _anyone_ whilst we’re there. Or, you don’t. You can just be my…escort.”

“No.”

“Please?” She was pulling out those eyes…goddamit (in an hour’s time, he’d blame the sleep deprivation), “yes, fine. But I’m not talking to anyone and you’re not going to the market for the week.” Ciri wasn’t a spender per se, but she had a way of making Geralt get her the most expensive riding gear whenever they went to the market together. If he was losing a day at work to go to a bloody ball then he could at least save some money.

“But-”

“No. That’s the deal.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “But we’re definitely going?”

“Yes. If you want.”

“Yes! I’m going to you the best outfit,” Jaskier suddenly interrupted with, cowering at the glare Geralt shot him. “And who thinks you’re coming, Bard?”

“Um- well, I just assumed-” Geralt couldn’t help it, he let a smile quirk the corner of his lips.

“You bastard!”

“What?”

“Do you spend your whole life aiming to scare me?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier glared. It made him look like a pig. Finally, he sighed. “I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”

“It’s why he has no other friends,” Ciri inputted, looking all too smug. Geralt didn’t grace her with a reply. Not that he needed to. Jaskier and Ciri began to talk amongst themselves, deciding different things they’d do in preparation for the ball.

This was actually happening.

 _Fuck_.


	3. Eodem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> And fairly quick, which is new. Here's just a few opening notes.  
> 1) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for the absolutely amazing this audience this is getting. The comments are absolutely great.  
> 2) Titles are in Latin by the way, if you're curious (as is the title)  
> 3) I'm not as confident about this chapter due to the new length of the chapters, which make me feel like I'm rushing things. But, if anything, they might actually be more engaging for their brevity so I'll guess I'll find out. Yennefer's character is definitely harder to construct but I did my best.  
> 4) Next chapter will be slower to update because I'm alternating updates with another fic but the updates on that are much longer. I think I'll do two of these chapters for every one of those but it means they'll come in short bursts and then have waits in between. Usually only a week or so. The other will hopefully be done sooner than this so I can focus on this more eventually.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> -fouryearslater

The queen’s quarters were large, almost as big as the grand hall, although Yennefer was yet to understand why. She had never refused luxury, cocooning herself in it like a dragon hoards its gold, but even she would admit the overstatement. Impossibly large stone structures made up its skeleton, yet its style was conducted by the soft velvets and vibrant colours that tarnished the room’s incessant beige. It wasn’t quite Yennefer’s personal style but her input was evident in the small details: the silk robe over the chaise longue, the painting on the far wall that wasn’t composed of distant ancestors she wasn’t interested in. Instead, it was abstract (a style never seen anywhere on the Continent), with splashes of colour that pulled emotions from her unwitting body. She detested it as much as she loved it.

This morning, her eyes weren’t focused on the painting. Instead, she lounged in the morning sun with an air of impermeability, her nose upturned but features ethereally calm, letting her thoughts wander, although never too far, drifting through the early bliss before a hectic day. She let her eyes focus on the picturesque scene outside the window: vast gardens, tended and grown by the best horticulturists this Continent had to offer.

The peace was warming. It was never going to last.

“Yennefer!” She withheld a wince. Only one person called her that.

“Tissaia,” she responded politely, if only because she knew this situation wasn’t one she could escape, even if her eyes did dart to the nearest exit. The deafening sound of heels clicking on the stone floor was followed, as Yennefer turned, by her stern-looking advisor, and previously tutor, Tissaia de Vries. She was foreign, her sharp features set apart from the usual colouring of Vengerbergs. Her skin was lighter, showing the deep creases in her face that must have come more from frowning than they had from age. Although, she certainly was plenty older than Yennefer, who never failed to point it out.

Yennefer leant back on her chaise longue, her hand brushing against the soft velvet, watching the women’s face form into a deeper scowl. “You’re supposed to be helping with preparations,” she chastised and although her words were without malice, the unsettling echo of her voice through the cavernous halls made Yennefer shudder anyway. Though she’d never show it, of course. She wouldn’t let people like Tissaia get the best of her. Not anymore.

“And you’re supposed to do that for me.” Yennefer cared about her kingdom, she really did. The power was in her hands and she didn’t look away from the responsibility of that, but this ball was a farce. She wasn’t going to put the effort into nothing more than a trick to keep her subjects deferent. She would do that through proper action, royal action, not an unimportant and boring social event where she’d have to sit through man after man asking her to dance, steadfastly refusing each one.

It happened every year.

Well, the first had been a little better. With a bit more naivety and a lot fewer years, there’d been a glee in seeing her subjects. It was only over time that she saw the futility of the whole effort. The people used it a social-climbing exercise, promoting themselves through nothing but luck. Yennefer may have been given the right to the throne, but she’d worked hard for it. These people had done nothing. There was no honour in that.

“No, I’m not, I’m there to advise your decisions.”

“Really? I didn’t know.”

“It seems not.” Tissaia pursed her lips but kept her posture almost regal. She was of no relation to any throne but Yennefer wouldn’t be surprised to see her on a throne one day. The woman was like a silent storm, causing chaos and havoc in her favour, whilst letting no one know she was doing it. Politics was her game, and she was winning. “Now, get up, we have things to do.”

“Well, at least you’re being inclusive.”

“If I wasn’t there, you would just hide.”

“For good reason. You know my feelings about this whole thing.”

“And you know mine.” She was right. Tissaia often talked about the intricacies of her decision to break the mould but even more often she quoted: ‘tradition is in place for a reason. To go against it will destroy everything you’ve ever worked for.’ Yennefer didn’t particularly care. Except she did. She would just never show it. “Now, let’s go. Are you ready?”

“Well I’m not sure I’m looking my best but at least I don’t look like an eighty-year-old recluse.” That was loose and she knew it but the effort was there; she would keep to her promise to never let a conversation pass without at least one slight about Tissaia’s age.

(And okay, maybe she didn’t actually have that many wrinkles. And yes, maybe she was only about ten years older than Yennefer. But let the woman have her humour, would you?)

Tissaia didn’t grace that with a reply, leading the two of them down the winding hallways, through paths that no one could ever hope to navigate. It had been Vengerberg’s strength on many occasions. A castle so complex that a spy could barely navigate it. So complex that an army could never even hope to dare. Yennefer, lacking the brute strength of her predecessors, had only emphasised the changes, adding tunnel after tunnel, changing the pathways from year to year so no one could ever learn.

Still, there were times she regretted her decision. And it almost always occurred when going to the council’s boardroom.

Almost twenty minutes later, filled with a few loopbacks and uncomfortable cul-de-sacs (which Tissaia would be up in arms about, muttering about paranoia and boredom), they reached their destination. The council had already convened, made up of her handpicked advisors.

She hated the sight of it.

Handpicked didn’t always suggest autonomy. At least half the room had been given a place out of social pressure and politics, leaving only half the room in any way inclined to her favour. They were Yennefer’s hardest oppressors. Public opinion didn’t often reach the palace but the Council’s malice, no matter the directive, never failed to tarnish it.

She tried to ignore the annoyance carved into their very faces at her pointed lack of punctuality. Instead, she examined the wooden sideboards, counting the cracks in the old wood. This room was as old as at least four of her predecessors and was crumbling from the inside out. Nothing could hide the creaking of the floors or the blooming dust that escaped with every step, no matter how often the room was cleaned. But, yet again, there was tradition to keep to and that meant the meetings would still take place here and nowhere else.

At least it gave her something to do, she thought.

“Your majesty, we have something urgent to discuss with you.” The man, Cillian, one of her cruellest opponents, waited until she gave them her attention; he didn’t like to be ignored. Men, she complained silently. Although she would argue she felt the exact same way about women. Distractions aside, she turned to him. Crack counting would have to wait.

“What is it?” Their words have bought a degree of her focus. Ball business wasn’t exactly urgent, which could only mean something more important had cropped up. (Hopefully something that could cancel the ball, she thoughts fruitlessly).

“As you know, the ball is coming this weekend.” She never would get everything she wanted, would she? She fiddled with her fingers, letting herself feel a small spark before parting them gently. The reminder kept her grounded. Even losing a spot of her impeccable control could endanger the whole city, she reminded herself; it really wouldn’t be fair to explode over something as small as a ball, no matter how much she didn’t want it.

After a few seconds, Cillian seemed to give up on waiting for an answer and continued. “And we have done most of the preparations. There are only a few items left on the agenda to go over. However, only one will be important for you.”

“Get on with it,” she cut in impatiently. She had no time for rhetoric and words; they were her weapon, never to be used against her unless they wanted them thrown back.

“The throne is unstable.”

“How so?”

“There is a queen on the throne.” She could almost scoff; she didn’t need a heavily balding man to tell her that she was incompetent. Maybe she’d allow the slight on her reputation if she actually deserved it. She clearly didn’t. “And that means Vengerberg is waiting for a king.”

“You want me to marry?” She wouldn’t let her shock show, hiding it beneath a grimace and purposeful shudder. Marriage was not on her radar, nor would she think it ever would be. Love was for the weak and marriage was for the dependent. She was gladly neither.

“We have suitors ready to the come to the ball on Saturday, but we’d like you to narrow down the list to those you’d be most inclined to. It will make the process far smoother and save either party from embarrassment.” Well, at least some of her actions were having an effect, she thought. So frequent were her rejections that they’d finally given her some choice.

Ah, the freedom. (Ha! As if.)

“I do not want to marry. I’m capable of leadership on my own.”

“It is a man’s place to take the throne. If you do not marry, Stregobor is likely to take the throne from you.”

“Stregobor has no right to the throne.”

“He may not be as close as you are. But he is the closest male heir. People would accept it.”

“As they accept me,” she spat. Her anger was a violent spark under her skin, barely tempered. Her eyes flashed violet but she kept her talents back. Once again, explosions wouldn’t be the right course of action. No, her words would be her forte.

“For how long, your Majesty? How long until they recognise that you’ll never have a husband? Never bear a child? Never do your duty?”

“This is my duty. My duty is to my people. To serve as King and Queen together. Stronger than they could ever be as two.”

“No person can do both.”

“Yet here I am.”

“Then it seems we’ll just have to accept the embarrassment that will occur on Saturday.” Somehow, Cillian had both lost and won the argument. Yennefer’s vicious attacks had chipped away at his argument but not his will. She stood in a rage, hands balled at her sides. “You cannot do this. I will not allow it.”

“And in doing so, you will embarrass yourself. Disgrace your reputation. Maybe then you’ll realise my role.”

“My role is already being fulfilled.”

“And will be done better with a husband.” The urge to slap the man’s slimy skin almost overrode her control but what she had in anger, she could match in practised calm. Her hair was standing tall, unwittingly static, yet her posture remained preternaturally still.

“We shall see.” She left before anyone could say another word. Mere minutes in those levels of toxicity were enough.

The path back was filled with silent curses and hurried steps. The silence was both a blanket and a chokehold, tossing her between its soothingly calm waves and its violent turbulence. She was no more comfortable in her room, feeling like a speck of dust inside the enormity of the space. Yet at least here she could have her privacy. Her own thoughts. Because it was what gave her most comfort in times like these. Even if her actions could not be her own, her thoughts would always be. No one could take that away from her.

Slowly, almost reverently, she let her chaos spill. As her thoughts tumbled and spiralled, she began to brush electricity into previously calm air, bouncing it between particles with the ease only possessed by the familiar.

“Yennefer.”

“I thought you were still in the council meeting.” Of course she wasn’t, though. Tissaia’s duty was first and foremost to Yennefer, not the council.

“My discussions with them are over.”

“Let me guess, they have handpicked the best suitors in all the land to try for my hand! And in front of all the commoners! How special.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“Yet it sounds so nice coming from my lips.”

“Flirting will get you nowhere, Yennefer. I am merely here to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, caring now, are we? I thought we were returning to your favoured brutality.”

“Yennefer,” she warned.

“Yes, I know. But I am fine. I am. I merely have to plan how to get rid of these suitors without embarrassment and show the council-”

“No.”

“Hm?”

“This is not the time for your plots, Yennefer. This truly is for the best. I know you see it as deference but it doesn’t have to be. Queens have their own power, sometimes more than their Kings. And you will gain respect. Respect you have always struggled to gain.”

“From the council, not from my people. Having a husband is nothing but the council’s absurd plot to take power from me.”

“Maybe it’s for good reason.”

“Don’t you start with your politics.”

“I do so out of respect for you. I wish no more than you for Stregobor to take your throne. He is a crone with no respect for your people. But he will take it if he can. This is the best way to solve the problem.”

“Giving away my throne to my husband is no better than giving it to him.”

“It can be. You just have to choose the right man. Someone good, fair, someone who give the people what they need-”

“I am giving the people what they need.”

“Yennefer,” Tissaia sighed, her shoulders losing their tension as she approached Yennefer’s spot by the arched window. “I know what you’re doing is good. Great, even. You are one of the best leaders Vengerberg has ever seen. But like it or not, you were born a girl, not a boy. That comes with its weaknesses. One that can be made up for by a man.”

“I see no weakness that can be made up for by some spotty youth.”

“Then choose someone older than fifteen,” Tissaia quipped, a short burst of her own temper revealed.

“What? Closer to your age? And what is that again? Three-hundred-and-four? It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.”

Tissaia finally gave into resignation. Yennefer was as stubborn as a mule on the best of days. Her walls were impenetrable today, as they would be every day until the ball, where her schemes would be planned behind the comfort her secure walls and guards.

“I wish only for you to not embarrass yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Very well then.” She left Yennefer to herself, never one for overstaying her welcome when she had other things to do, ignoring the purple smoke that seemed to gather around the Queen’s feet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before. None of this was anything she hadn’t seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story is up! It's called Two for the Price of One if anyone's interested :D [link here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337059/chapters/53358385)


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